Feruffine 'scaped, the good Cantelmo left, What counsel, Sora's duke, was thine, what heart, When thy bold son thou saw'st, of helm bereft, Amid a thousand swords, when -- dragged apart-- Thou saw'st his young head from his shoulders cleft, A shipboard, on a plank? I, on my part, Marvel, that seeing but the murder done, Slew thee not, as the faulchion slew thy son.
